


just us

by ryoken



Series: thirteen years in unholy sanctuary [4]
Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 02:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14886212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoken/pseuds/ryoken
Summary: Aphrodite is asked to fulfil a task.





	just us

“Grand Pope?” Aphrodite spoke questioningly, cautiously making his way to the audience room. He had been called, of course; but by one of the teenaged groundskeepers, not Saga. 

 

It was not on orders, the boy said, but could you please go see the Grand Pope when you can? It was an unusual request, Aphrodite had thought, especially when the younger ones are usually too intimidated to speak to a gold saint. Something must have been going on with Saga. And if he was doing anything assumed appropriate to leave in the hands of Aphrodite, and not just a senior groundskeeper, care was likely required in his approach. Aphrodite stood outside the room Saga would likely be in, right behind the curtain. He’s not required to, as a gold saint, but he’d rather not walk into a professional setting in his casual clothes. 

 

He didn’t hear a response to his question, so he called out again, “Grand Pope,” he paused, “May I speak to you?” And again, nothing.

 

He lifted the curtain to the audience room, only to find Saga absent. Or at least appeared to be absent. Aphrodite sighed, and strode into the room. The Pope’s seat was empty, but with a quick glance around Aphrodite found what he was looking for; the slightest glimpse of dark fabric poking out from behind the chair.

 

Aphrodite knew this behavior. This was the true Saga, the one riddled with neurouses and guilt and other charming traits. He was likely dressed up poorly in his Pope’s robes, failing to tie the waist or having forgot the cape or some other nonsense. And if this was a scene that had worried some poor new groundskeeper into asking a gold saint to deal with it, it was also highly likely he was clutching onto the Gemini cloth in some way, like a starved infant looking for warmth and care. Looking for a companion to ease his troubles.

 

Rounding the chair as he approached, Aphrodite found himself correct on all accounts.

 

“Saga,” Aphrodite spoke softly, endeared. Saga sat on the floor behind the chair, speaking in mumbles to the angered face carved into his helmet. After a second of registering he had been spoken to, Saga turned to look up at Aphrodite, who leaned over him with a smile.

 

It took Saga a moment to realize who he was looking at, but when he did, his face melted into relief.

 

“When did you get here?” Saga asked. Aphrodite could’ve been standing there for hours and he would’ve been none the wiser.

 

“I was asked to check in on you,” Aphrodite said, “And make sure you were doing okay.”

 

“I see,” Saga said. Aphrodite knew Saga did not like the feeling of being so blatantly coddled, but said nothing as the man on the ground gave a bitter look down to his helmet.

 

Aphrodite sighed slightly, “Is there anything troubling your mind?” He asked. When Saga did not immediately answer, Aphrodite slowly started crouching down, sitting on his knees at Saga’s side, bringing a hand up to cup Saga’s face. Aphrodite noted his cheeks were wet somewhat. Saga casted his eyes down, looking past Aphrodite’s touch.

 

“There is a silver saint,” Saga spoke with honesty, “I’m not sure what I should do about.”

 

“Oh?” Aphrodite prompted.

 

“Do you remember the Cepheus saint?” Saga asked him. Aphrodite shook his head. The silver saints were of no concern to him… and he rarely bothered to remember their names before they needed to be replaced again anyway.

 

Saga sighed, “See? It’s because he refuses to return here.” He admits, mistaking Aphrodite’s disregard for those below him as validation of his troubles.

 

“Does he have any students? I find many teachers struggle to leave their protégés for very long,” Aphrodite asked.  _ Except Deathmask _ , Aphrodite thought, remembering the young Mei who still resided alone in Sicily.

 

“Well, yes, but…” Saga said, “...Not always. None of his students currently live on Andromeda Island. I thought he’d come back after his time as a teacher had finished, and I’ve sent three summons since then, and yet,” He started to choke up at the end, and Aphrodite moved quick to hold Saga’s face in his hands while the man held tighter still onto his helmet.

 

“He still refuses to come.” Aphrodite said, finishing Saga’s sentence.

 

“Yes. I think so. I don’t know, he has a lot of responsibility, doesn’t he? Maybe I shouldn’t expect him to make it, but,” Saga looked lost as he told Aphrodite his worries, “What if he just doesn’t like me? All of these people, all of them, they all suspect me anyway. He’s definitely just refusing. He hates me. They all do.” 

 

Saga’s shoulders started to shake. Aphrodite couldn’t tell exactly who ‘they’ all included, but he had a pretty good idea of what Saga was referring to. There had been an increasing flare up in dissenters lately. He knew what to do with them, but it was always a struggle to sensitively get Saga around to the concept without him going into a dissociative rage.

 

So as Aphrodite racked his brain with a way to respond, he found himself staring at the man in front of him, who had been reduced to mumbling to himself again. Aphrodite almost felt struck.

 

Here he was, the center stage of all Aphrodite’s passion, the embodiment of his ideals. Sitting on the floor, dirtying his robes. Staring at a piece of armor and speaking to it in choked sobs as if he was talking to another man. Looking lost and abandoned, hurt that some poor fool thousands of miles away may not like the way he rules his Sanctuary. 

 

Aphrodite’s heart felt warm just from looking at him. 

 

He knew what Saga needed from him, of course. And Aphrodite would always feel fulfilled just from having such a purpose. 

 

“Saga,” Aphrodite spoke, redirecting his attention. Saga turned to face him again, looking more wrecked than before. Aphrodite shuffled closer to the man, reaching out with both hands. Cupping his face in his hands, Aphrodite began to make soothing motions over the sides of his face, gently guiding Saga’s head into his chest. Saga accepted the guidance gratefully, falling into his touch as he began to calm down in Aphrodite’s arms.

 

“You know, Saga,” Aphrodite spoke softly to him, “You are the Pope of Sanctuary. The continued life on this planet rests on your guidance of the saints.” In his arms, Saga took a deep breath.

 

Aphrodite continued, “You hold Athena’s will. The saints pledge themselves to that. If there are saints who disregard that, or care not for the will of Athena, then they aren’t fit to be saints. Am I correct?”   
  


“Yeah…” Saga agreed.

 

“It’s important you make it clear what it means to be a saint of Athena,” Aphrodite told him, “And what need happen to those who pick up the cloth without respect for their patron Goddess.”

 

Saga got carried along by Aphrodite’s words. It was such a sweet melody, he thought, to remember what his position was. Like a song, until he panicked, until he actually remembered – until what he truly did came back to him, until – 

 

“Aphrodite,” Saga sat upright with a start, quickly choking up again and drowning in remembering the true reality of it, “How can you say that, when you know – when to get here, I – “ Aphrodite wasn’t swayed by his momentary panic.

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Aphrodite stopped him, grabbing Saga’s face again and subtly guiding him down again as he spoke, “Look at me, look at me… don’t forget so quickly, Saga, what I said. If you were not the true will of Athena, you would not be allowed to be Pope. The cosmos would’ve never allowed it… and still, you are. Do not fret.” 

 

Saga blinked rapidly, but fell quickly back into the comforting illusion of Aphrodite’s words.

 

“You’re right,” Saga said, easily swayed.

 

“There we go,” Aphrodite said, relieved, and began to move one hand from Saga’s face to his back, rubbing in gentle circles.

 

“Aphrodite,” Saga said, “On Andromeda Island, can you take care of the Cepheus saint for me? He’s a blonde man, stocky, average height… and I cannot allow for dissenters.”

 

Aphrodite hummed, pleased, and replied, “Of course. I’ll leave in the morning.”


End file.
